


flame

by downmoon



Series: a lifetime [11]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Blood, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downmoon/pseuds/downmoon
Summary: a glimpse into the unknown





	flame

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trapped at an airport for 5 hours, and still have another 3 to go, so i finally managed to bang another chapter out! the end approaches, folks.

_ “How well do you know the Sheikah?” _

Link’s gaze flickers over to Sheik, Sidon’s terse words ringing in his head. He’s spent six days mulling the conversation, ever since they left the Domain. It hadn’t mattered before, but the straightforward way in which Sidon had proposed his doubts shook something loose within Link’s head. Suspicion. And it’s an ugly cloak to wear. It makes Link’s stomach twist with a sour feeling, his heart clench with stony refusal. 

_ “I found him in a cave, just like me,”  _ Link had argued.  _ “He can’t remember, just like  _ me.”

But Sidon had shaken his head at Link’s passion, immune to the fury curling up in his features, almost like he was distracted by a thought.

_ “Yes, you’re right,”  _ Sidon had answered after a pause of mournful silence. He’d tried for a smile, but Link hadn’t felt any joy in it, his fury draining away into a cold confusion.  _ “Safe travels, my friend. And know that I am but a call away. You are not alone in this fight anymore.” _

Beside him, Sheik methodically slices an apple, his bare feet propped up in front of the fireplace. The inn bustles in quiet motion behind them, the innkeeper’s wife muttering to herself as she wipes down the bar, a few late-night patrons with their heads bent together over a table. The innkeeper herself is outside, whistling for the dogs to come in for the night.

Link considers Sheik in profile. He doesn’t  _ seem _ different; his eyes still glitter a rich, deep red by light of the fire. His hair, loosely gathered at the nape of his neck, curls softly around his face, still damp from their baths earlier. He slices his apple with the same neat precision, slips each piece into his mouth with the same delicate intention. Physically, there’s nothing different about him, and Link could chalk it up to Sidon’s own paranoia or jealousy or who knows what strange emotion. But, no, it’s not Sheik’s appearance.

It’s his  _ feeling. _

Link couldn’t call it anything but a gut instinct, an uncomfortable spike of adrenaline prickling along the back of his neck ever since they left the the Woods. He almost wants to blame Sidon for it, for planting the idea in his head in the first place. But this feeling, this jagged uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, is far beyond any planted thought. It’s the same kind of feeling he gets when a Guardian looms upon the horizon, or a blood moon creeps its way across the sky. It’s a feeling that unsettles him, and he finds it difficult to maintain the clarity of his thoughts and the calmness of his heart.

A swell of laughter bubbles over the regulars in the corner. Sheik turns and looks over his shoulder with a slight, amused grin. Link shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“What do you suppose it is they find so funny?” Sheik hums to him. The knife, held loosely in his hand, glints wickedly in the flickering fire’s light.

“Hard to say,” Link whispers back, tearing his eyes from the knife.

“Perhaps a riddle,” Sheik muses, “or a joke made at the expense of another patron.”

Sheik sits there, pondering his own words, twisting the knife in his hand idly. The apple is now a core in his hand, one he flicks into the fireplace after a few heartbeats more of listening. The knife glints like a silver threat in his fingers, and coupled with the listless expression of Sheik's face, the deadly sharpness curling around the slight smile on his mouth, Link is on edge.

“Gentlemen,” Sheik calls out suddenly. He sits up from his slump in front of the fireplace, his hair swinging around his shoulders. “Care to let a traveler in on the secret of your humor?”

The knot of men hovered over the table all turn to look at Sheik, surprised, but holding no ill humor.

“We're merely sharing a laugh at the expense of ol’ Barnabas here,” one of the men says, slapping a sheepish looking man on the back of his shoulder. “The pigs got into his turnips this morning.”

At that, the men all share a laugh again, although nowhere near as raucous as earlier. The smile on Sheik's face quirks a little broader, a little closer to something genuine. Link's guard, however, refuses to drop.

“A tragedy, that's certain,” Sheik says. “I've noticed all the farms and fields as we've made our way across the land. You work hard for your livelihood and your families, of that I'm certain.”

Sheik speaks so gently and so reverently that he has no trouble winning over the circle of farmers. They grin at him with a new gleam in their eyes, their work-roughened hands curling around their mugs of ale.

“Thank you kindly, sir. I hope you've found hospitality among our lands, you and your companion both. We don't get many travelers out our way, and two young Hylians such as yourselves are an even rarer sight.”

“Bib, don't be daft!” one of the men whispers harshly. “That boy there's a Sheikah or I'm a turnip's toe.”

The one called Bib turns back to Sheik, squinting in the flickering blaze of the fire and the low lamps.

“By the Goddess,” Bib says, “you're right, old man. Begging your pardon, Master Sheikah. These eyes of mine aren't what they used to be.”

Link chances a glance towards Sheik. The farmers meant no harm, but the observation feels almost like judgment, like the farmers are scrutinizing Sheik with an entirely new perception now that they've gotten a good look at him. Link can feel the heavy weight of curiosity in their questioning stares as they look over Sheik, a gaze or two flickering in his direction as well.

Before either of them can speak, another one of the farmers pipes up. “What are you doing out this way, then? Two travelers such as you out in these lands is unheard of.”

Link looks to Sheik automatically; they've been honest, more or less, for the reason of their quest, but something holds Link back from speaking. Sheik senses it, too, given the way his body straightens into rigid lines.

“Two travelers does not make as strange a sight as a pack of Yiga,” he spits out.

In an instant, the atmosphere changes. Link is on his feet before he realizes it, weapon at the ready, but he's still two heartbeats behind Sheik.

Sheik lunges at the group of farmers, who all disappear in a pack of smoke and wicked laughter. All but one, pinned to the floor by Sheik's blade in his foot. He howls in pain, his fingers digging blindly against the floorboards as he tries to shake free, but Sheik has scrambled on top of him, yanking the bloody blade free and holding it to his neck. The innkeeper's wife screams, but Link barely notices, so intent in his focus to help Sheik.

The Yiga manages to lurch up from the ground, nearly dislodging Sheik from his back, but Link dives onto his legs. Blood from the Yiga's wound soaks into the fabric of Link's trousers. Sheik presses his blade closer to the Yiga's throat, yanking back on his head until the man whimpers beneath his mask. He speaks in a low hiss in a language Link doesn't understand, a language he's never heard Sheik speak. The Yiga mutters something in return, something that has Sheik shouting in reply, and then stopping, abruptly. He breathes hard; Link watches the way his ribs expand and deflate in his distress, but before he can blink, Sheik grunts and slides his blade across the man's throat.

“Sheik!” Link shouts. Words have finally found their way into his mouth. He drops his blade and grabs at Sheik's shoulders, belatedly trying to stop him. The innkeeper rushes in, no doubt summoned by the distress of her wife. Link only sees the expression of horror that spreads across her face, no doubt in reaction to the gore spread across her floor.

Sheik stumbles upwards, standing defiantly over the body. Link stands behind him, hands already out spread in placation.

“An accident,” he says, but even to his ears it sounds flimsy.

“Get out,” the innkeeper says coldly. Link curls his bloodstained fingers into fists. He knows there is no argument here, and no reason that will keep them here safely throughout the night. He pulls on Sheik's arm, and swallows down the lump in his throat as he turns around. Blood is smeared across Sheik's mouth, staining his fingers, his thighs, but most striking, and perhaps most frightening, are his eyes. Redder than the blood, glittering with ferocious anger, like a wild thing backed into a corner. Link drops Sheik's arm and steps back.

His breath is caught somewhere in his throat. He turns to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He grabs their packs from the small room they had so graciously been shown earlier, grabbing Sheik's boots from the corner, intent on rushing back downstairs. But he hesitates in that dark room. Sidon's words echo in his head again, the unknown. Link just stared into the unknown, a side of Sheik he's never seen before, and that side frightened him. Sidon is but a call away, and Link knows he'd come the instant he could. He could abandon Sheik, leave this wild beast and his bloodlust behind.

Link's stomach twists in nausea. The mere thought of abandoning Sheik makes him sick. He can't help but remembering the ragged slip of a boy he found in that Resurrection cave so long ago, the wildness in his eyes then. No, Link can't, he  _ won't  _ leave him behind. He has a responsibility for this beast since he was the one to release him. Sidon's words were spoken out of paranoia and worry. Perhaps jealousy.

Link, resolute in his decision, leaves the room, quickly returning to the hall. Sheik is gone, but a trail of blood is smeared along the floor. The innkeeper glowers at him, so Link reaches into his pouch and pulls out a handful of rupees. He presses them into the wife's hands, begging silent forgiveness as he hurries out the door.

The horses are in pleasant spirits, so much so that Link hates to unhitch them and begin to saddle them once again.

He's nearly finished by the time Sheik steps into the ring of light produced by the torch outside. His clothes are damp and his face is clean, but blood still clings to the fabric and sits dark around his nails. He takes over with Rosie, hooking her bridle quickly but carefully.

“How did you know?” Link hisses, throwing Sheik his boots. It's like Sheik's eyes had been opened to the Yigas’ disguise. Link could recognize a few of them by the way they spoke, but he felt nothing until Sheik did. 

Sheik doesn't answer him, working methodically on Rosie's dressage. 

“Sheik,” Link says hesitantly, softly, “what did he say to you?”

Link receives no answer. The sound of the torch snapping in the darkness is the only sound to break the silence between them.


End file.
